


But It’s Better If You Do

by chelizabell



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, F/M, One Shot, Smut, Song Lyrics, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelizabell/pseuds/chelizabell
Summary: Brendon brings a fan on stage for a special performance.This is a dream that I had that I decided to turn into a fic. It’s a WIP and I have plans for it to be a fully developed story. I’ve been able to churn out 8000 words this week (End of Dec. 2017/Beginning of Jan 2018) but my pace will slow as I go back to work. (I’m a teacher) I appreciate your patience :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Music belongs to Panic! at the Disco and Cyndi Lauper/Harvey Weinstein.
> 
> When the DOAB tour came through Dallas, I wasn't able to go because I'm a teacher and a pussy when it comes to staying up late on school nights. So this chapter is set at the size venues from the V&V and TWtLTRtD tours. 
> 
> This is just a disclaimer because I know someone somewhere will come at me with this. I mean nothing negative against Sarah. She's incredible - as I said, it was just a dream, and nothing negative is said about her. Her name isn't even mentioned, just the fact that B is married. That's all.
> 
> This is the very first fic I've written. Like I said, it’s a WIP.
> 
> With all that said - enjoy!

Everyone knows Brendon Urie likes to ham it up on stage.

“Excuse me.” Zack towered in front of me.  


“Yes?”  


“Brendon wants to know if you’d like to come on stage and sing with him.”  


“Um…Well, I don’t think I should say no. So, yes. Definitely.” Zack arched an eyebrow - one I'm actually surprised isn't stuck there. He held both hands out to me, making an 'up' motion. I raised my arms and he put his hands under my armpits and pulled me over the barricade. It was definitely the _least_ graceful thing I'd ever done. I could only hope that the girls behind me quickly filling the empty hole, begging to go on stage as well, were the only ones to see my shirt ride up to my bellybutton.  


“So, any idea what this is about?” I asked, pulling my shirt back down. I rubbed at the small scratch on my lower stomach from the gate.  


Instead of answering (or looking at me), Zack just said “Wait here until he calls you up.” That was Zack - always business during a show. And before a show. And after a show. If he and the boys didn't post videos of Zack not during performances, I'd think he only had a serious side.  


I was nervous. That’s for sure. I’d never seen videos of Brendon asking someone to sing with him. There was no way he’d heard my singing over everyone else’s, especially because I wasn’t shouting. I was singing along, sure, but quietly. Like when you’re studying but can’t get too distracted by the music.  


Watching Brendon dance around the stage from the side was definitely different than from the front. I was behind the speakers for one thing - I could actually hear more of what was going on. Especially with no one screaming in my ears next to or behind me. But what struck me the most, in those few moments that I just stood off to the side, observing, was Brendon's face when he would turn away from the audience. Facing the audience - he's always bright and smiles. In the short moment when he turns around, the performer's mask slips in a need to breathe and steel himself. A man, with known anxiety, who had to take a moment and be human. It made him real. 

The fact that he was less than five feet away from me, shirtless, sweaty, and screaming made him pretty real, too. 

Zack nudged me, “He’s waving at you.”  


I shook my head, clearing the cobwebs. Brendon _was_ pointing at me and waving me over to the lone chair next to him. A chair that, when I left the audience, definitely was not on stage three minutes before. A chair that, clearly I was blind when it was brought out, definitely seemed to be just for me. A chair that, while Brendon rubbed circles on the seat, I was definitely nervous in which to sit.  


The lights blinded me as I walked on stage. It was hot. It was no wonder Brendon always ended the night without a shirt. He gestured towards the chair and said “Have a seat” into the microphone, a huge grin on his face.  


The chair wasn’t facing the audience, it was actually facing the wings, so the crowd actually had a view of my profile. Brendon stood in front of me, talking to the audience with the microphone pressed to his lips. I couldn’t hear what he was saying - I was too focused on the bob of his Adam's apple as he spoke, the way his lips curled into his infamous shit eating grin - the vein in his neck.  


A stage hand walked out with another microphone. I held a hand out to take it, assuming it was for me - Zack did say Brendon wanted me to sing. Surprisingly, though, Brendon raised a hand and shook his head. Instead, he placed his gold microphone in my palm “For you, my lady” and took the other one. I smiled shyly and held the microphone tight. I didn’t think I could afford to replace it.  


Brendon turned to face me. He flipped the microphone in his hand, leaned forward, and put his hand on the back of the chair behind my shoulder, Frank Sinatra's face next to mine. He put his mouth to the side of my head, his lips grazing my ear as he whispered “Want to sing with me?” His breath was hot and sent shivers down my spine. His voice was sultry. I still don’t know if he meant it to be, or if it was the situation and the fact that my heart was racing, but it worked for him. And for me.  


“If you’re okay with being outdone, sure. What are we singing? Some Nsync? Backstreet Boys? JoBros? That’s all I really know.” I smirked, finding a spark of hidden wit. Which was shocking, really, because he was close enough that I could see the individual beads of sweat down his neck and back. I could see the space between the waist band of his pants and the small of his back. It was a wonder I could think at all.  


Brendon threw back his head and laughed. The pale white skin of his throat glistened with sweat, the bob of his Adam’s apple still captivated me, sexier than it should be. Suddenly his mouth was beside my ear again, “Oh no," he laughed, "we’ll sing one of my songs,” his voice lowered, “My hands might wander...is that okay? This song is about sex after all.” He tipped his head back to look in my eyes. Up close, I could see that his weren’t just brown - they had flecks of green and amber in them.  


Unfortunately, any trace of wit I had vanished. I swallowed then nodded. He half-grinned, the corner of his mouth curved up suggestively. He looked up from my eyes, passed my head and nodded. Dan tapped his sticks together three times and Brendon, his hand still on the chair behind my shoulder, bent at the waist, brought the microphone back to his lips and stared into my eyes, inches from my face. And started singing.

 _Is it still me that makes you sweat?_  
_Am I who you think about in bed?_  
_When the lights are dimming your hands are shaking as your sliding off your dress._

He slid his hand to my shoulder and down to my waist.

 _When I think of what you did,_  
_And how I hope to God he was worth it  
_ _When the lights are dim and your heart is racing as your fingers touch your…_

The venue went dark at the pause in vocals. I’ll never know if it was planned or not, but Brendon knew what to do. I couldn’t see him, but I could still feel him. He kept singing. ( _I’ve got more wit, a better kiss_ ) I felt him lean in closer, still holding the microphone to his mouth. He wrapped one arm around the back of my waist ( _a hotter touch, a better fuck_ ) and lifted me, pulling me out of the chair, switching our positions so that he was now sitting. ( _Than any boy you’ll ever meet, sweetie you had me_ ) and I was on his lap, facing him, straddling him, my feet hooked behind his knees. He ran one hand up my side and into my hair at the nape of my neck.

 _Girl, I was it, look past the sweat,_  
_A better love deserving of_  
_Exchanging body heat in the passenger seat  
_ _No, no, no you know it will always just be me_

The hand in my hair tightened. He pulled the microphone away from his mouth and yelled, his voice low and demanding, “Ride me and _sing._ ” The lights slammed back on and the audience screamed when it saw our new position. The whole stadium yelled, “ _Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster, faster._ ” And I did as I was told.

 _So testosterone boys and harlequin girls_  
_Will you dance to this beat_  
___And hold a lover close_  
_So testosterone boys and harlequin girls_  
_Will you dance to this beat  
_ _And hold a lover closer_

____

As I moved, Brendon didn’t take his eyes off of me. And I didn’t take mine off of him. The audience disappeared for a moment, and it was just the two of us on that chair, both his hands on my waist, my other hand hand at the nape of his neck. Brendon leaned forward, his lips touching the other side of the microphone I held, joining me.

 _So, I guess we’re back to us,_  
_Oh, cameraman, swing the focus_  
_In case I lost my train of thought,  
_ _Where was it that we last left off?_

We both stopped singing. The audience took the next line as he and I took heavy breaths in unison.

 _Oh, now I do recall_  
_We were just getting to the part_  
_Where the shock sets in  
_ _And the stomach acid finds a new to make you get…_

And in another fluid motion, he stood, lifted me again, swung us around so I sat back in the chair, but this time, my legs were still wrapped around his waist as I did. The audience screamed again.

 _I sure hope you didn’t expect_  
_To get all of the attention_  
_Let’s not get selfish  
_ _Did you really think I’d let you kill this chorus?_

Again, we paused and the audience sang. ( _Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster, faster_ ) His eyes bore into my soul. I could see the lust in them, and I was sure mine reflected the same. When the chorus started, Brendon’s hips began moving, and I began singing.

 _So testosterone boys and harlequin girls_  
_Will you dance to this beat_  
_And hold a lover close?_  
_So testosterone boys and harlequin girls_  
_Will you dance to the beat  
_ _And hold a lover close?_

As the audience sang the next couple of lines, Brendon unwrapped my legs from his waist. I sang “ _Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster, faster…Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster._ " Brendon walked around me, dragging his hand across my collar bone from one shoulder to the other. When he was behind the chair, he gently wrapped his arm holding the microphone around my throat, pulling my head back to him as he sang in my ear. His other hand slid down my body in time with the music.

 _I’ve got more wit_  
_A better kiss_  
_A hotter touch  
_ _A better_

He gripped my thigh 

_fuck_

His voice broke.

_Than any boy you’ll ever meet  
_ _Sweetie you had me._

He let go of my thigh and walked back around, stopping in front of me.

 _Girl, I was it, look past the sweat_  
_A better love deserving of_  
_Exchanging body heat in the passenger seat  
_ _No, no, no,_

He put his hand on the back of the chair, leaned in close, his lips pressed against the microphone and whispered.

_You know it will always just be me._

As the audience yelled( _Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster, faster_ ) again, Brendon grabbed my hand, pulled me out of the chair, and ran off stage, tugging me behind him. The band finished the song behind us.  


I laughed, breathless. The air was cooler in the corridor, but my heart was still racing. Brendon slowed to a jog, then finally stopped in an empty hallway. He turned to me. I couldn't read the expression on his face. It was a stark contrast from a moment before under the sweltering lights. However, he didn’t let go of my hand.  


“I’m married.” He said. I blinked, confused as to why he said that. The statement, like I didn’t know it, slammed into me. Brendon was scared. He knew that on stage it was just a performance. But back here, the two of us stood in an empty hallway, the weight of possibility thick between us. He was looking for an answer to the question he hadn't asked yet. I shrugged and said, “I’m engaged.” His eyes visibly widened, then lowered to my hand. He was silent for a minute while he fingered the ring on my hand, proof of my admission. His eyebrows furrowed in thought. He looked in my eyes, and, I guess, saw the answer he was looking for. He dropped my hand and grabbed my waist, slamming his mouth into mine. This wasn’t like any kiss I’d had before. It was heated, and sloppy, and sex poured into it. He pressed deeper into my lips and grabbed my ass, pulling me against him. I could feel his erection and knew what happened on stage wasn’t entirely for show after all. My hands instinctively reached for his shoulders, sliding up to his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair.  


I broke away from the heat, “You’re not balding like everyone says.” I said with a small smile. His eyes flashed and he growled low in his throat saying, "I think what they actually say is that my hair line is receding." 

I laughed. "Oh well, that might still be true."

“Come with me.” He pulled me through the hallway again, headed towards a door with an ‘exit’ sign above it. Zack stepped out of a doorway, relieved to see Brendon.  


“There you are, you gonna come bow?”  


Brendon shook his head quickly, “No, I’m heading out. Cover me?” Zack ran a hand down his face. My heart thudded in my ears while I clung to Brendon’s hand. Zack looked to me, then to Brendon. I looked to Brendon, and he looked at me, question and uncertainty in his eyes. This was the point of no return. I knew I could thank him for the fun, turn around, and head home. And he’d let me go without a word. We both knew what was happening, and we both knew what choice we were making. And I’d made my decision.  


I leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, feeling the shadow of stubble scrape my chin. When I pulled back, Brendon turned to Zack, resolve set on his face. Zack sighed, tossed Brendon his shirt, and waved a hand toward the exit, knowing there was no point in arguing. I tossed the gold microphone that was still in my hand to him.  


Brendon pulled the shirt over his head as we waited for the car to pull around. The air was chilly on that February night. I crossed my arms over my chest, and rubbed my hands on my biceps, desperate to find warmth from the sting of wind. Thankfully, the car was warm, but the ride to the hotel was short. The air in the backseat was thick and sticky, and while I'd already made some questionable choices, sex in the back of a car with a random man as the driver wasn’t about to be one of them. While we sat in silence, Brendon had already taken out his wallet, pulled the keycard out, and tapped it against his thigh.  


When we got to the hotel, the front was littered with paparazzi. My heart jumped to my throat, and my stomach dropped. This was the end of the line. There was no getting out of this without being noticed. 

But the driver already knew to take us to the service entrance where there was no one. By the time my breath returned to my body, I realized the driver had gotten out of the car and was opening the door for us. Brendon grabbed my hand, yet again, and pulled us from the black SUV, swiping his key card at the box next to the door. I threw a quick “thanks” over my shoulder to the driver.  


You know when you go to use an elevator, and you press the button, and it lights up, and then someone walks up and presses the same button as you, as if you hadn’t already pressed it? That was Brendon. But to himself. He pressed the ‘up’ button, stepped back, looked at the arrows above the elevator, growled, stepped forward, and pressed the button repeatedly. When the doors dinged, he didn’t wait for them to open completely before pulling me into the elevator.  


In the car, he didn’t touch me at all, but when the elevator doors closed, he pressed his body against mine, and backed me against the wall; his eyes shined with hunger. He put his hands on either side of me, grabbing the metal bar pushing into my back. He did nothing else but press against me and stare in to my eyes, breathing heavily while the elevator chimed at each floor.  


When the doors opened, he practically dragged me down the hall to his room. He swiped the card, and the little light turned green, granting us access. He threw the door open, and swung me around him into the room. Brendon closed the door and leaned against it, his chest heaving. After a moment, where I was suddenly terrified he’d changed his mind, he tossed the key and his wallet on to the side table, stepped forward and lifted me by my waist. You'd be surprised at the strength in those lean arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist again as he carried me to the bed. I crossed my arms behind his neck, looking down into his eyes and realized how little we’d spoken since I walked out into those lights. He set me on the edge of the bed, hands atop the comforter on either side of me while he toed off his shoes. I leaned back on my elbows and took in the sight of the man before me. The black shirt clung to the sweat on his chest. His leather pants were pulled tight against his thighs and strained across his groin. He lifted one leg, setting his knee to the side of me. I moved backwards on my elbows and he crawled after me. He pressed his mouth to mine again, pushing my head back on the pillow. I reached down to his waist, pulling his shirt over his head, ruffling his hair, and breaking our kiss.  


“You still sure?” He asked, his words filling the last bit of space between us.  


I ran my hand up his arm to the nape of his neck, “Shut up,” I said, and pulled him back down; his lips crashed into mine.  


He broke away after a moment, sitting back on his haunches. He slowly lifted my shirt over my head; his fingers grazed my sides raising goosebumps over my ribs and on my arms. He threw my shirt to the other bed. He cupped my face for a tender second and then trailed his hands back down my body to the button of my shorts, kissing down the middle of my chest and stomach as he went.  


He unbuttoned my shorts and pulled the zipper down slowly, drawing out the moment. I bucked my hips, and he just giggled and pressed a kiss to the waistband of my underwear that peeked through the zipper. He pulled my shorts and underwear down my legs and threw them to the same spot as my shirt. He undid his own pants, and pulled them down only as far as he needed. He leaned down onto his elbows, both placed on either side of my head, his face centimeters from mine. A few strands of his hair fell over his eyes as he looked down at me; I brushed the hair back so I could see the storm brewing in those irises. There was a moment that felt like an eternity before he slid, achingly slow, into me. And it was wonderful. Whether you believe it or not, he’s a gentle lover. He moved slow and deep, and he never took his eyes off of me. He cradled my head in hands, rubbing his thumbs over my forehead. I've always been quiet in bed, but he moaned as his hips rocked back and forth. Only, his moans weren't just moans.  


“Are you…humming?” I breathed.  


He bit his lip and nodded, hips still moving.  


“Is it…Kinky Boots?” He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to mine. His hips steadied, but he didn’t pull out.  


“I can’t…help it,” he finally said his eyes fluttered shut, “It's something I've always done. I can't control it, and whatever song comes to me, that’s what comes out.” I let go of his biceps that I’d clung to and cupped the sides of his face. I rubbed my thumbs across his cheek bones, under his eyes.  


“That’s fucking hot as hell.” I declared. His eyes flew up and he lifted his head to look at me.  


“You sing as loud as you want, and you fuck me as hard as you can.”  


He lifted up from his elbows and grabbed the headboard above me with one hand and my hip with the other. And he did as he was told.

 _Chapter one - he’s a bum_  
_Two - he’s not into you_  
_Three - he’s a sleaze_  
_Four - loves the girl next door_  
_Five - loves the boy next door_  
_Six - don’t love you no more_  
_Makes you insecure_  
_Makes you so unsure_  
_Is so immature_  
_Loves his mother more  
_ _Or…_

And at that, with my back arched, with my pelvis shoved into the bed by his hand on my hip, with his veins bulged in the arm stretched above me making the piano keys look like they were moving, and with his hair in his eyes again, we both climaxed together. His hips stopped moving, but he was still buried deep within me. He threw his head back, breathing; his Adam's apple bobbed with each breath. His grip on the headboard loosened. He let go of my hip as well. Without looking, I knew the handprint was already starting to bruise.  


After several seconds, he slid out and moved to sit on the side of the bed. He used his discarded shirt to clean himself. I could see the vertebrae of his spine as he leaned over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands as he continued to catch his breath. He reached into the night stand and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one, and offering it to me.  


“No thanks,” I said, “Can you pass me my clothes?” I asked, knowing our time together had come to an end. Quite literally. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw disappointment flicker across his face before the mask was back in place. He handed my clothes to me, and I dressed quickly. In the mean time he shifted to sit back against the head board, having discarded his pants finally. He laid a pillow over his lap.  


I headed toward the door, ready to leave, but I had a question I couldn’t shake.  


“Why me?” I asked, a hand on the door.  


“What?” He sounded confused; I could hear the cigarette between his lips.  


“Why did you pick me out of the crowd tonight?” I asked again.  


“Because I remembered you.” I dropped the door handle and spun around. Now it was my turn to be confused.  


“What do you mean you ‘remembered’ me?”  


He grabbed the cigarette with the V of his first two fingers and rested his hands on the pillow, staring at them. “Tonight," he said, "I remembered you from Kinky Boots in July. It was the first show after I’d decided to not come out to meet fans at the stage door anymore. I remember that because I was disappointed I wouldn’t get to thank you for coming to the show and actually enjoying it. And that night…I remembered your face that night, too.” I was speechless.  


“I remembered you from the second Vices and Virtues tour, in Austin." He still hadn't looked up from his hands. "It was the day I sprained my ankle, and it was actually worse than I'd let on. I was in a lot of pain. You congratulated me on my engagement. You weren’t the only fan to do so on that tour…but you were the only one who seemed genuine about it, and it eased the pain in my ankle and put a real smile on my face. So, I remembered you. I couldn’t tell you how I remembered your face five years later at Kinky Boots. All I know is…in Austin, at Kinky Boots, and tonight…you’re always enraptured by the show. You don’t only have eyes for me. You take everything in - Dallon, Kenny, Dan, the lights. You never use your phone or get distracted by conversation. You were by yourself in Austin, and by yourself tonight. You weren't by yourself in New York, but I watched you from the wings at Kinky Boots, and even though I wasn’t on stage, you were still 100% engaged in the show. It’s never like you come just to see me…it’s like you come to celebrate my music, the band, the show. And it’s…" he paused, finally looking at me, "'fucking hot as hell,’ as you might say.” He finished with a fond smile on his lips.  


I walked over to the night stand, stunned. I couldn’t believe he’d put so much thought into what was happening. I couldn’t believe he’d even remembered me. Of course _I_ remember each of those times, but there’s only one of him. There’s millions of me. It was impossible for him to remember me specifically for so long. At least I thought so. When I stopped next to the bed, I pulled out the hotel notepad and pen and wrote down my number.  


“If you want," my voice was shaky, "let me know next time you’re back in Dallas.” I leaned down to kiss him deep one last time. I poured everything I was feeling into that kiss, hoping he understood. He put his hand in my hair, crushing our lips together telling me he knew exactly how I felt because he felt it, too. I broke the kiss and pulled away. My legs trembled as they carried me to the door. I paused for just a second before I opened it and stepped through the threshold, leaving the room behind me - leaving Brendon behind me. The door closed with a finality.  


I ignored the tears the threatened to spill.

I stood patiently at the elevator, my arms cross over my stomach, holding my elbows when my phone rang. It wasn't a number I had saved, and it felt too soon to be anyone but Brendon.  


“Hey. Did you forget something?” I smiled as I answered the phone.  


“Hello, ma’am, this is Target Card Services calling in regards…” I groaned and hung up, my heart plummeting. A noise somewhere between a hiccup and a laugh escaped my lips. "You're an idiot." I whispered to myself.  


A laugh came from behind me followed by, "That makes two of us." I spun around. And there he was. He’d thrown his pants on, but had not taken the time to button them. His hands were shoved in the front pockets. He hadn’t even grabbed a clean shirt. His hair was tousled and sweat still covered his forehead.  


“You know, I’m still in Dallas for the night if you wanna…” he trailed off and nodded his head over his shoulder gesturing back down the hallway.  


The elevator chimed, but I didn’t hear it over the sound of the door closing behind me.


	2. Step One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All original characters belong to me. Brendon belongs to himself. 
> 
> I’m trying to expand this. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Even suggestions of where you’d like to see this go!

“Have a great weekend, guys. No school, Monday! Don’t forget.” 

I collapsed into the chair at my desk. Wrangling twelve and thirteen year old hellions five days a week was exhausting. Working a second job, taking graduate classes, and planning a wedding on top of it certainly didn’t help. The three-day weekend was more than welcome. 

I slid open the drawer of my desk with one hand, turned off the projector and shut down my computer with the other. 

I had five text messages when I unlocked my phone. I read them as I turned off all of the lamps in my classroom.

Two from my mom: _What do you think of this pillow_ And _Hello_ Five minutes apart. I rolled my eyes and sent a quick _cute_ before she called me and demanded I look at the picture while she was on the phone with me. 

_Did you start the book yet?_ From my best friend, Sophie. She and I try to read books together. It’s a way for us to stay connected - she lives in Arizona. She’s a budding actor and she has to follow where life takes her. It never seems to be near me, but she’s happy, and our friendship has only grown stronger, and I’m okay with that. _Not yet,_ I replied, _we didn’t get to read today like I planned. As usual._

A group text from the two teachers I’m closest with at work _When the fuck are grades due again? Why is it different every 6wks?_ I laughed. _I think they’re due Saturday. Pretty sure I saw that on the announcements._

The last message was from a number I didn’t recognize at 10:34 that morning.

_Plane lands at 5:30. Pick me up? I’ll understand if you don’t._

I stood just outside my classroom, my hand on the door waiting to close it. I stared at my phone, unblinking. I reread the message again. The teacher next to me, Katie, slammed her door shut. I jumped and dropped my phone. It slid and landed at her feet.

“You alright?” She asked as she bent to pick up my phone.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just,” she handed me the phone, “really confused by the text I just got.” I forced a laugh through the heart beat in my throat. “My mom…doesn’t know how to type when it comes to texting, and I was just…trying to decipher what she said.”

“Oh,” she smiled, “I definitely understand that. Your phone screen alright?”

_Plane lands at 5:30. Pick me up?_

“What was that?” I asked.

“I asked if your screen was broken. You’re staring at it again.”

_I’ll understand if you don’t._

“What? Oh yeah. Yeah! It’s fine. No cracks.” I locked it and held it up for her to see. “I’ll see you Tuesday?”

She pulled her car keys from her purse, “It can’t take long enough to get here,” she said “see you then!” And she left.

I watched her walk through the hallway, still frozen to my spot. She walked under a clock that said “4:00.” The airport was about 30 minutes from the school, without traffic. That afternoon it was more likely to take 45-50 minutes. That meant I didn’t have a whole lot of time to make my decision.

Not to mention the small fact that I didn’t actually know if it was really him. I was only assuming.

“Christine???” I yelled through the hallway, hoping Christine, the teacher I’d say I was closest with at school (and one who wouldn’t judge me too much), was still in here room.

“Yeah, bitch?” She yelled back. Thankfully, students leave pretty quickly for long weekends.

“I’m coming to talk to you. Drop whatever you’re doing.” 

When I stepped into her room, she was sitting at her desk, gripping the sides of the table.

“Give it to me. What is it? Do we need candy? Water? Should we get alcohol?” She turned around to grab her purse, but I stopped her.

“No no, we can just sit and talk. And I might not have that much time, anyway.” I said, gripping my phone.

_I’ll understand if you don’t._

She set her purse on the desk next to her, “What’s going on?”

I sighed and sat on top of one of the student desks closest to hers. I hadn’t told anyone the story yet - not even Sophie. But I needed help, and I needed someone who wouldn’t chastise me.

“You remember the video of me and Brendon Urie from February?”

“Remember? Um, how could I forget? I dream about it every night.”

I grimaced, “Well…thanks for that, I guess. But do you remember what I told you happened after we ran off the stage?”

“I think so. You said that he just thanked you for playing along, and his bodyguard…Zeke-”

“Zack.”

“Whatever. His bodyguard walked you out of the venue to your car to make sure you didn’t get mobbed. Right?”

“Yeah you’re right, that’s what I said happened.” 

She looked confused. “Okay, so what do you need to talk about?” 

“That’s what I _said_ happened,” I looked at the floor, “but it’s not what _did_ happen.” When Christine’s excited, she does this thing where she grabs at things on her desk, then puts her hands in the air and spins back and forth in her chair for a few seconds.

“What are you talking about? What did happen? Did he invite you to hang out in his dressing room? Did you get mobbed? Bitch, you said I didn’t need alcohol for this. Where’s my water bottle? I gotta have something.” She opened the bottle, chugging back the water.

“I slept with him.” Christine spit the water she was drinking across her desk, spraying the stacks of student work. “What?!” She choked out.

“At his hotel. We ran off the stage straight to his…well, _a_ car.”

“Oh fuck” She said, as she dabbed at the papers with her sleeve and cleared her throat “Are you fucking serious? Is this real? I don’t know what to feel. You look serious, but this can’t be real. Are you joking? Is this a joke? You’re just fucking with me, right?” She continue to grab at her desk and spin in her chair.

“It’s real; I swear.” I said.

“But…” she stopped moving, her face scrunched in thought, “you’re engaged.”

“That is true.” I fidgeted with the ring on my finger.

“And isn’t he married?”

“Also true, yes.”

“Holy shit.” She finished.

I laughed, a bark of emotion that bubbled out of me. “That’s accurate.”

“I’ll need more information later, but why are you telling me this right now?”

I slid off the desk to hand her my phone.

“That night,” I explained as I walked to her desk, “I gave him my number. It was…probably stupid, but it was on a whim. The whole night was stupid, obviously, but I told him if he was back in Dallas to let me know. If he wanted to, that is.”

“Oh shit. Okay, and?”

I unlocked my phone and turned the screen to her.

She read it out loud, “Plane lands at 5:30. Pick me up? I’ll understand if you DON’T.” She finished reading the text screaming. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“No. It could be a wrong number.”

“Well what are you waiting for?? Text back and ask if it’s him!” She nudged my phone back to me.

“Should I?” I asked, walking backwards to where I was sitting.

“100% yes you should. If it’s a wrong number, this is over. If it’s him - you need to know before you make any decision. That’s what you needed me for, right? Help you make a decision.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “you’re right.”

 _Who is this?_ I tapped the little blue arrow to send the message. I set the phone on the desk next to my leg, which I couldn’t stop shaking.

“Wow. I can’t believe this. Was it good?” Christine asked while we waited.

I let out a loud laugh, “Indescribable.”

“Oh girl. I can’t believe you didn’t let me get alcohol for this conversation. What do you think you’re going to do? Are you going to go pick him up?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I…” I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. “I never thought I’d hear from him. It’s been three months, and there was no word from him the moment I finally left his room the next morning -”

“THE NEXT MORNING?!” She yelled.

“ - and I thought we both knew it was that night, and that night only. I didn’t have a plan for this. I’m -” my phone vibrated, buzzing against the desk.

“Oh shit.” Christine said. “I’m fucking nervous for you. My pits are sweating, look at this - what’s wrong?” She said, seeing the look on my face.

“It was just from my mom. She’s asking me if I want any of these fucking ugly pillows she found.” 

_I don’t want any, thanks_

“Oh my GOD, MOM. Does she not get that we’re in a crisis right now??” Christine yelled.

“You’re the only person I’ve told - you get that, right?”

“Yes, and while I’m delighted by that fact, and honored, I need the whole world to understand the energy going on right now and to not text you!”

“He’s probably on the plane and can’t answer.”

“Ugh, that’s a good point. Shit. What are we going to do?”

I raised an eyebrow, “We?”

“Girl I’m in this. I’m invested. I need to know how this plays out. This is Game of Thrones shit.”

I giggled, “Well, I don’t plan on kill -” my phone vibrated in my hand.

“If that’s your mom I swear-”

“It’s not.” I interrupted. 

“Is it-”

“Yes.”

“What the FUCK does it say?” She threw her hands in the air, spinning in the chair again.

I swiped open the message. I could feel the smile spread across my face as I read it.

“Why are you smiling?? What does it say.”

I turned my phone to show her.

_B._

With a microphone emoji.


	3. When the Day Met the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original characters belong to me. Brendon Urie belongs to himself.
> 
> All feedback is welcome, as long as it’s constructive. As I’ve said, this is my first fanfic, so I’m doing my best.
> 
> Also, I’ll remind you this is _fiction_ and I get that.

Christine’s parting words echoed while I walked to my car. 

_“Cami…be careful. But listen to your heart.”_

I scoffed. Listen to my heart? How could that possibly be good advice? I certainly wasn’t listening to my heart back in February. No, I was definitely thinking with a different organ that night. Everything that night was sexual. Hyper-actualized because we had an audience in the beginning. It wasn’t something my heart was thinking about. It was lust…plain and simple. And we we’re both tied to other people, basically literally. So on top of everything, it was wrong. We made a bad decision…no matter how indescribable it was.

_“I remembered you.”_

Those three words slammed back into my head. The vision of him on the bed with the pillow laid over his lap, vulnerable while he shared he thoughts. I’d done my best to block that image from my memory of the last couple of months. It wasn’t something I needed to remember from that night.

That night. I thought about it, of course, for weeks after it happened. How could I not? It was the most intense thing that’s ever happened to me. And well…I wanted to hear from him. Taboo or not. I think part of me wanted to know if what he told me was genuine. If that night was…important to him at all. But the longer I went without hearing from him, I’d started to convince myself it was a fever dream. A regular dream, at best. That I’d made it up. 

So life went back to normal. I mean, it was only abnormal for about six hours one night. The next day was back to my regular routine. Carpool with my fiancé to work every day, teaching 7th graders for eight hours, go home, eat dinner, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Grades were still due every three weeks, bills were still due every month, I was still engaged, and Brendon Urie continued doing Instagram Live videos, acting like nothing in his life had changed. And so did I.

Never did I expect to actually hear from him.

Christine told me to follow my heart. And as far as I knew, my heart wasn’t involved. It was all in my head, and that was that.

But my head needs to explain to my heart why we took the exit for the airport.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I saw him as soon as I pulled around the arrival lane. He looked just like every other passenger giving big hugs to their loved ones or shaking hands with their Uber driver as they threw their luggage in the backseat. But I saw him. Brendon stood out to me.

His knees peaked through the holes in his faded black skinny jeans. His tattoos stood in stark contrast against the pale skin of his arms and shoulders in his grey tank. His messy hair was swept back underneath a backwards baseball cap. A black duffle bag sat on the ground next to his feet; he held a jean jacket in one hand, his phone in his other. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the black Ray Bans on his face, but he was biting his lip while he looked at the screen.

_Red Ford Explorer._

His head snapped up; a smile spread across is face. He tucked his phone into his front pocket and grabbed his duffle bag. He’d found me and was making his way down the sidewalk to my car. I didn’t know if I should get out to greet him, or just stay in the car.

I’d put the car in park and was pulling the door handle when he reached the car and made the decision for me. He opened the back passenger door, through his duffle across the seat and slid in.

“Sorry. There’s a couple of girls taking pictures of me,” he pointed to the teenagers with their phones point in the direction of my car, “and I figured it’d be better if I pretended you were my Uber driver.”

I didn’t know what to say. The fact that our…well, I didn’t know what to call whatever was between us, but the fact that it didn’t warrant acknowledgement in public stung. A lot.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice, “Oh yeah, cool. That makes sense. No problem. Well, where are you headed?”

He took his sunglasses off and caught my eyes in the rear view mirror. “It’s good to see you.” He said, a small smile playing at his lips.

My heart was clawing its way up my throat. My stomach clenched. It wasn’t fair the affect his eyes had on me. I remember now that they were the reason I lost control that night. When he had his sunglasses on, I could be cool and indifferent. I could treat him as just an acquaintance, someone I knew that just needed a lift from the airport.

But when he slid those sunglasses off, my knees grew weak, my heartbeat got louder, and my brain turned to mush.

“It’s uh…it’s good to see you, too.” I finally stammered out, pulling away from the airport pickup. “So, what’s the name of your hotel? I’m sure you’d like to-”

“I’m actually pretty hungry. Airline peanuts and pretzels just don’t cut it. And my flight left LA at 11 this morning, so I haven’t really eaten yet.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure there’s a ton of places between here and your hotel. There’s a Burger King right outside of the parking lot, a Jimmy Johns down the street, probably fifteen Whataburgers on the way, “ I was rambling, trying to still the awkwardness I was now feeling. Only, I wasn’t making it any better. “McDonalds of course. I don’t even know if you eat fast food. Jimmy Johns is fast, but it isn’t greasy like your regular drive through. I’m sure there’s a restaurant at your hotel, so you’ve definitely got a lot of options -” I stopped to catch my breath.

Brendon leaned forward in the seat and rested his face against the headrest of the passenger seat. He laid a hand on my arm. “I meant it. I’m glad to see you.”

I pulled up to a red light and didn’t say anything. I looked down to my arm where his thumb was softly rubbing back and forth. My eyes trailed from his hand up his arm, grazing over Frank Sinatra’s face, the new tattoo at the crook of his elbow, past his shoulder and into his eyes. Once I saw those flecks of green and amber again, I couldn’t look away. His thumb stilled. His tongue darted out, swiping at his bottom lip. Everything from that night that I’d locked away - every emotion, every touch, every look, every feeling, every word- came flooding back to my senses. 

The car behind me honked.

“Oh shit, sorry,” I said to the car, not that he could hear me. Brendon pulled his hand away and sat back in the seat again. He pushed his sunglasses back on his face.

“Where do you want to eat?” He said.

My breath hitched, “Me?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “I thought we’d get some dinner together. Talk a little bit. You know, I don’t even…I don’t even fucking know your name.” He pulled his cap back and scratched at his hair before sliding the hat back over it. “You’ve just been ‘Dallas’ in my phone for the last three months. And that’s not exactly the greatest name, so I’d at least love to know what your real one is, instead of just calling you by the city where you live.” 

I was silent for a moment. He was right. I never told him my name that night. I’m not sure why I thought giving him my phone number was cool, but my name was “Uh oh, better not cross that line.” Like we hadn’t crossed any number of lines that night anyway.

I looked in the rear view mirror at Brendon. His hands were crossed in his lap, his right ankle crossed over the other knee. Again, I couldn’t read his expression behind the sunglasses.

“Come on…you know my name, it’s only fair.” He said. I hardly thought anything about this situation was fair. 

“It’s Camille. My friends call me Cami. And I don’t live in Dallas.” His eyebrows raised above his sunglasses for a moment.

“You don’t? The fuck? Aren’t we in Dallas?” He asked, turning and leaning forward to look out of the window and towards the skyline. “Yeah, there’s that fucking weird ball thing.”

I laughed, “It’s Reunion Tower, and yes we are. But I live in a suburb just north of Dallas.”

He sat back, relaxed. “Oh, I gotcha. I don’t actually live in LA, either. Sarah and I -” I stiffened when he said her name. It was easy to forget she existed when I was with him. And that was not good.

“Oh shit, I’m fucking sorry. That was…wow, I’m a dick. It’s a habit, and I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry -”

“Brendon. It’s okay. I know you’re married. It’s something…it’s something I should be prepared to hear you talk about.” I looked up to the mirror again. He’d taken his sunglasses off again and was staring intently at me.

“What’s your fiancés name?” Of all the things I expected him to say next, that definitely wasn’t one of them. “You are still engaged, right? You’re wearing the ring still.” He pointed to my hand on the steering wheel. I looked down to my ring, the sunlight glittering off the stones. I put my hand in my lap, steering with the other.

“Yeah, I am. His name...” I paused, not sure I was ready to let go of that information. I was afraid of how real it would make this whole situation. This crazy, fucked up situation. But I looked at those eyes and knew I’d never be able to resist. “His name is Josiah.” 

Brendon made a small “hmmm” in the back of his throat, his sunglasses back on his face. He stared out of the window, watching the cars pass.

I didn’t know what to say. The silence was awkward. The weight of everything we’d done, the weight of even just being in the car together, hung between us. It was heavy, and neither of us knew what to say. Or do. I turned the radio up to fill the silence. 

I drove several more blocks in the direction in which I assumed his hotel was. I’ve lived in DFW long enough to be pretty familiar with the various parts of Dallas, and I know where most of the big name celebrities stay when they’re here. 

A quiet “Hey Cami” came from the backseat. My heart skipped at the sound of my name on his lips. I looked up to the rear view mirror again. Brendon was staring back, sunglasses firmly in place.

“Yeah?” I was certain he was going to say all of this had been a mistake and could I just take him to his hotel. That he’d delete my number and I’d never hear from him again. He’d apologize and say how sorry he was, but he couldn’t do this anymore and he was so sorry. I knew what every was going to come out of his mouth wasn’t going to be good for my strength. I steeled myself, ready for his next words. 

“What the fuck is Whataburger?”


	4. There’s a Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered, Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note* I used this song as the title for this chapter because Whataburger gives you little plastic orange and white numbers. No other reason.
> 
> Author’s Note 2* I hope the few people that have read this are patient with me. I said I would write quickly, and then haven’t for 3 weeks. I wrote this immediately, and it has sat on my iPad. I’ll do what I can to be quicker.

“That is one of the biggest fucking burgers I’ve ever seen.”

“Yep.” I said, shoving a French fry in my mouth. “And it’s fucking delicious, so you’re welcome.”

“Hmm, I’m sure that’s not all that’s fucking delicious.” He peeled back the foil of the ketchup packet too fast and some of it squirted on the table. I watched as he wiped the ketchup up with one finger and brought his hand to his mouth, a pink tongue reaching out to lick before he closed his lips around the finger. I crossed my legs underneath the table, worried that the sudden heat would radiate to his side of the table.

He reached down to clean up the rest of the ketchup, but before he could bring it to his mouth, my hand (involuntarily, I might add) shot out and grabbed his wrist. His eyebrows shot up, and I leaned forward taking his finger in my mouth, cleaning the ketchup off the tip. Brendon sucked in a breath of air.

Did I just fucking lick ketchup off his finger? And why was it a huge turn on?

But glancing across the table, it worked for him, too. His eyelids were heavy, his bottom lip pulled through pulled through his teeth. I released his wrist and sat back, taking a sip from my cup. 

“Cami?” Hearing him say my name didn’t really help, either, just another shot of electricity between my legs. How could he have such an affect on me? I’ve wiped condiments off of a table plenty of times, and it’s certainly never been sexy. Or a turn on. So what nonsense was this that he held over me?

I blinked up at him; he was looking right back. “I’m sorry, what was that?” 

He grinned. “I said,” he leaned forward and whispered, “is this bun buttered?” He winked suggestively to tease me.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I shoved him back. “But yes,” I continued, “it’s like their signature.

He laughed, wiping his fingers and mouth with a napkin. I chose to take a drink from my cup and slurp loudly to ignore him. I watched the people of the city walk by through the window, the cars speed down the highway; a homeless man, keeping close to Whataburger, begging anyone who dared walk close enough. 

We were about ten minutes from Josiah’s office. I knew he wouldn’t walk in; there were at least three WBs between the two points. But that didn’t stop me from staring anytime a white car pulled into the parking lot or jumping when the door jingled over our heads. Joe and I usually carpool to work each day. His office is directly on the way to my school, but this morning, however, we drove separately so I could get grades submitted for the six weeks. That was the only reason I was able to pick Brendon up. Any other day, and…well, I wouldn’t be here. Making another bad decision.

“So…this librarian look. Nice clothes, glasses, hair up. Different than that night. Still sexy, though.” He reached across the table and tugged at my shirt, exposing more of my cleavage. “Even better.” He sat back with a smirk. 

“Why are you here?” I asked, voice shaky. 

His lips spread in a wide smile. “Can you keep a secret?”

_Hands in hair, sweaty skin, heavy breaths, leather pants._

“Um. I’d say so, yeah.”

He smirked, cocking an eyebrow having understood the track my mind took. He slid out of his seat and moved next to me. He laid his arm on the booth behind me, leaning close and whispering. “I’m taking a leaf out of the Queen’s book. The album is almost done, and I’m just gonna drop it. With a visual album to go with it. I’m here looking for shooting locations for videos.”

My jaw hit the table. I twisted and leaned back to look at his face. The flecks of amber in his eyes glittered with excitement. Another bolt of electricity shot through my body. “You’re what??” I asked breathlessly. “When are you releasing it?”

Brendon’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “We’re spending the summer filming, and we’re hoping to get it out in September.” 

I couldn’t believe it. None of us (and by ‘us’, I mean fans, of course) knew he was even writing. We suspected of course, but Brendon hadn’t let anything slip. No accidental plays on Instagram, no obscure song lyrics on Twitter. Nothing. I couldn’t believe he was sitting here with a pocket full of music ready to release on the world. No longer able to contain how I felt, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. The hand behind me came up to grab my neck.

We stayed that way, battling for dominance until I pulled away, finally remembering we were in public. We sat together in silence breathing in unison.

“The recording band knows, of course.” Brendon said after a moment. “And Zack, since he’s always with me. The producers. All of the people that go into recording it. Spencer and, “ he stopped suddenly, looking down at the table. He dipped a fry into ketchup, chewing it and a swallowed it before speaking. My eyes followed the bob of his Adam’s apple. That damn Adam’s apple. “That’s it.” He said. “No one else knows.” He still hadn’t looked up from the table.

I felt sheepish. Of course I wasn’t the only one to know. That wouldn’t even make sense. He could record the whole thing by himself, and produce it himself, but it’s not practical. So why wouldn’t the people involved with making an album know about it? Why wouldn’t the people closest to him know? Zack, Spencer, and…oh.

“Sarah? Does Sarah know?” I offered, knowing he was trying to be considerate of my feelings. But I’d told him that was something I need to be okay with hearing. He didn’t owe me anything. And I didn’t owe him anything. And if we were going to sit here and make the choices we were making, we were going to be clear about everything.

He brushed the fingers of his right hand together, dusting the salt off and nodded. With his left, he reached up and brushed back the hair on my forehead. “And now you do, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When we got back to the car, Brendon sat in the passenger seat next to me. The air between us was definitely different than before. We’d finished our food in silence after Brendon moved back to his side of the booth. We knew, in public, it was safer to be separated.

The whole situation was uncomfortable - but I couldn’t tear myself away. It would’ve been so easy for me to drop him off at his hotel, call it quits, and head home. But I couldn’t do it. I was beyond attracted to Brendon Urie at this point, whether I wanted to be or not, and I wasn’t strong enough to shake him. 

The sound of his voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“…need to get back to work?” He was asking, “To the library?” He smirked.

“Oh, no.” I pressed in the break and pushed the start button, pulling my seatbelt across me. “I’m a teacher. I was done for the day when I got your text.”

Brendon wolf-whistled. “A teacher, huh? Maybe you can teach me some things.” He reached across the console and ran his hand up my thigh. My breath caught in my throat. My heart thudded against my chest, and butterflies swarmed in my stomach. “You wanna go check out the location with me?”

I could barely hear over the rush of blood in my ears. I just nodded while he pulled up the map with one hand, the other still firmly gripping my thigh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He took us to an abandoned building in the warehouse district. If it were anyone else, I’d be sure I was going to be hung up and left for the rats. But for a Panic video, I wasn’t surprised he’d chosen this place.

What did surprise me was the inside. While I expected dust and mold and broken windows and fallen beams, I was met with blonde-polished wood floors and columns and a domed ceiling and a beautiful chandelier that glittered around the ballroom. The lights were low and the shadows behind the columns danced around the room. The room was breathtaking, and I couldn’t wait to hear the music it would accompany.

From behind me, Brendon place his hands on my waist and pressed his body against mine. “I like when you can’t speak. And when that blush creeps up your neck.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear, “And the goosebumps on your arms when I whisper in your ear.” He pressed a kiss against my neck. I tipped my head back onto his shoulder as he pulled my hips back, grinding into my ass. “Oh, I definitely like that.” He growled. My hand instinctively reached up and behind me, burying my fingers in his hair before I pushed away. I spun around, ready to say no, and that we couldn't do this anymore. That is, until I saw him.

His eyelids were heavy and his face was flushed. His lips were parted slightly, labored breaths sneaking through. His hands were fists at his side, clenched in what little control he had at the moment. My eyes trailed down his heaving chest to the growing bulge below his waist where they snapped back up to meet his. Those pools of brown were dark and stormy and hungry. 

“Fuck it.” I said, kicking off my shoes. I jumped and his arms came up to catch me as I wrapped my legs around his waist.

He spun us around walking to the shadows and slammed me against the wall. I rested my head back to breathe which he took as an invitation; he leaned forward, biting my neck. I unwrapped my legs from his waist and slid down the wall, his hands firm on my hips. He pressed his body flush against me, crashing his lips to mine again. My fingers tangled in his hair, and my back arched away from the wall, my body trying to get closer to his heat. His hand moved down my waist to the hem of my skirt. He slid his hand underneath, grazing back up my leg while pushing the skirt higher until his hand rested at my hip, his thumb nestled between my stomach and thigh underneath the waistband of my underwear. He slammed his other hand against the wall, gripping my hip harder as his hips moved grinding into the thigh between his.

“Shit.” He breathed pulling away from my lips.

I let out a breathless laugh. “So, we gonna kick this up a notch or…?”

He growled and with the hand on my hips, pulled my underwear down to my knees leaving my skirt bunched around my waist. I pushed him away, reaching for the button of his pants and sliding down the zipper. I slipped a hand inside and pulled out his cock, stroking it in the shadow of the column we hid behind. His breath hitched and he reached forward, grabbing my waist and lifting me again. My legs spread and wrapped around his waist again.

“You good?” He said, brown eyes searching blue ones for a sign.

“What are you waiting for?”

His eyes glinted as he pressed me against the wall again and slowly lowered my hips. He began to hum as I slid down his shaft. My walls opened until I’d taken him in completely. He shifted both hands to grab my ass for support. I braced one hand on his shoulder and the other on the wall behind me. 

“Fuck me.”

“As you wish.” His eyes bore in to mine, and he never once looked away. My shirt hiked up which each thrust, the wall cold my back. 

“Cami…” He sang my name.

“Do that again.” I gasped. “And don’t stop moving.” 

“Yes, ma’am, Ms…?” 

“Farrar.” I breathed out.

“Anything you say, Ms. Farrar.” And he kept singing.


End file.
